Hell is now clean

I live in a rented house, that has been rented out to other families since the 1950's. As far as rental houses go - its pretty good. Hardwood floors, a nice sized kitchen. There are enough strata of paint that could be easily excavated, catalogued and analysed by any archaeologist. The finish on the floors is wearing off though...the cushioned floor has seen better days and the bathroom is way too small for a gal and four boys. And then there is the basement. We have not have had a good relationship over the past year - considering the earlier trials I had with it ..its not surprising that we've been avoiding each other. My husband divides our labour thus: he does all the laundry - I do things like wash floors and bathrooms. He does the kitty litter too, so I will not complain too loudly about having to clean our microbathroom. So, usually all I have to do is dash down the stairs to procure something out the freezer - something I try and avoid by shirking it on the kids as a favor to mom. But, hubs announced that my dank, musty and I hate to admit mouldy basement was going to be cleaned. Something happens when you start counting points and watching every bit that passes through your lips. It has an exteriorizing effect...like I want to purge all the clutter and junk accumulating. So the basement seemed a natural progression.
With mop in hand - I scrubbed that floor so it smelled like the Pine forests near Jasper National Park. We pitched and turfed, and I freecycled three big bags of neglected toys. Three. They went in less than 1/2 an hour.
My present for my basement? A lamp.